What Our Parents Believed
by Boducky
Summary: When a Muggleborn girl’s magical powers have been mistaken for insanity, special steps must be taken to bring her to Hogwarts. Will she ever find her place in the wizarding world?
1. Chapter 1

**What our parents believed**

_A crazy thought one day. It seems to me that children with magical abilities can sometimes do magical things without really meaning to and without really knowing how (like when Harry let the python loose grin). What happens when a young child's magical abilities get a tad out of control? This would seem normal, if a tad exasperating, to wizard families… but what if it happened to a Muggle-born?_

_Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter or any of the characters, nor do I make any profit from these fictions. Sara Michaels is a purely fictional character of my own creation. Please forgive some mild Hagrid-bashing. I love the man, but very much doubt that Snape thinks much of him._

Left alone in her tiny, dismal room, the girl heard the door shut, the lock clicked. Silence, then the muffled sound of footsteps faded as the person made their way down the hall. Sara Michaels took another sip of water to wash away the bitter aftertaste left in her mouth. As always, the water was too warm for her liking, and made her gag. But it did wash the pills down, and that was all that mattered.

After downing the rest of her water, she set the cup neatly in one corner. They'd come to pick it up the next time they visited. A small luxury, but a luxury none the less. Most people here weren't allowed to keep their cups, supposedly because they could do some harm with even that object, though Sara never understood how.

Sure, if the cups were made of glass, someone could smash it and use the shards to slit their wrists. Even the hard plastic kind could be used by some of the others to hurt themselves, or others, in some way. But the cups there were those cheap, clear plastic ones. Not the ones that cracked and broke easily, the ones that really weren't quite clear, almost foggy looking, that crumpled easily and made little white lines in the plastic. The kind that was impossible to tear apart, though they seemed quite fragile. But at the Lethbridge United Mental Wellness Hospital, a polite name for a loony bin, over-cautiousness was the key. Sara was well enough that she was allowed small freedoms. But she still had to stay locked tight inside, and she still had to take the pills.

Time passed and, predictably, the cries and moans started. Martha. She always did that, every time the nurses came to administer her meds, every time someone else started shouting, a prelude to a cacophony of wails and shrieks. Every time the 'bad people' came into her cell. The thing was there were no bad people, for everyone save Martha. Sara was almost certain that Martha didn't get to keep her cup so she could finish her water.

Leaning back against the padded wall, Sara curled her thin knees up against her chest and swiped a lock of brown hair from her eyes. She hated them both, the dull, lacklustre color of her hair, and the equally dull brown of her eyes. Sara's younger sister was beautiful, with corn-silk blonde hair and startling green eyes. The girl was seven years old and too blissfully ignorant to appreciate her looks or to realize that she was an object of envy. She briefly wondered how Megan was, and then decided that wondering didn't change anything. Megan would hardly remember her older sister, as their parents rarely took her for visits. They seemed afraid that exposing the young girl to Sara's insanity would only make things worse for everybody. They also thought that Megan wouldn't be able to handle the noises and confusion of the hospital, even for small periods of time.

Eleven years old, and Sara had been in the hospital for close to two years. She had gotten very used to everything there. And before that, she had been seeing different medical doctors and psychologists for as long as she could remember. Ever since her parents had realized, much to their horror, that their oldest daughter was suffering from more than just the active imagination of childhood. When things started getting worse, they sent her here. At times, she despaired that she would never leave the hospital, never get better, never have a normal life. Despite all this, Sara learned to be cheerful and outgoing (as much as was possible, when she was in such a controlled environment) and to bear it all with a smile. She had learned a while ago that people who acted too sad got more medicine and needles. Sara didn't like that at all.

As she continued thinking, something nagged at the back of her mind. Not quite registering the fact, the girl continued sitting pensively, wondering about her life, reminiscing. In this place, her mind was her only refuge as well as her worst enemy. After all, it was the reason she was in here. Sluggishly, unwillingly, her mind started drifting back to reality.

It was too quiet. A distant part of her mind smirked at the old cliché; the rest of her was filled with a vague sense of unease. The hospital never got this quiet, not even at night when everyone was supposed to be sleeping. For one thing, there Martha was almost always moaning in her sleep. There were also people pacing the corridors from time to time, making sure that all was well and that the crazies were fast asleep.

In the absence of even these familiar noises, Sara's heart seemed abnormally loud. What was going on?

Footsteps started down the hallway, echoing bizarrely in the unnatural silence. Heavy, slow footsteps, a person who was walking as if they were looking for something. _Or someone,_ her mind quailed. The sounds moved closer and closer, sending her fear to a fever pitch. Sara clapped a hand over her nose and mouth in an effort to silence her increasingly rapid breathing. Heart pounding too loudly for her liking, the small girl tried to scrunch herself up even more. _It's just a nurse; it's just one of the nurses. Nothing's wrong,_ she chanted inwardly.

Darkness passed by the crack under the door and a shadow crept along the small glass pane. A man muttered something in a deep voice, a word that she didn't understand. Maybe it was a different language. The lock clicked. Sara gasped as the door swung open. It was coming for her. She tried to crouch back even further as the shadow slid into her small room. Her breath sounded shrilly through her lips. She was breathing too fast, and couldn't make herself slow down. Tears streamed down her bony cheeks. Any time now, she would lose control completely and start sobbing hysterically.

The footsteps stopped just inside the door. Without knowing it, Sara had clenched her eyes closed. Foolish logic... if you couldn't see it, it couldn't see you. The thing called her name, hesitantly, questioningly. She didn't answer, didn't want it to know that she was the one it was looking for. It called her name again, the voice so low and soothing. She could imagine that it had a horrible monster face and that the voice was to lull her into a false sense of security.

"Sara Michaels," the voice said. "You have to come with me. I was sent to get you. Get up, girl, we don't have much time." It sounded impatient, annoyed. She didn't want to make the monster angry. Taking a deep breath, she dared to open her eyes and peek at the figure looming before her. _Maybe Martha was right about the bad people._

After the initial introductions, the silence had lasted for a good half an hour. The strange man had ushered the young girl out of the hospital and lead her to a dark blue Oldsmobile. Then he drove away as she sat in stony silence.

Manoeuvring through traffic, he took an instant to glance at the girl. She was a small, pale, frail slip of a thing. Like a plant lovingly cared for, but kept out of the sun, left craving what it needed most. A dark wisp of brown hair fell across her forehead and nearly into her wide eyes. It must have aggravated her, it would have bugged the hell out of him, but she either didn't care to sweep it away, or she was still so afraid that she didn't dare attempt even that slight movement. A pang of regret, an alien feeling, many would say, swept through him. He hadn't meant to scare her.

His dark eyes flicked back onto the road just in time; he cursed and slammed on the brake to avoid hitting a van in front of him. His heart pounded as someone honked their horn, probably at him. He really should be paying attention to what he was doing. Lord, how he loathed driving Muggle cars. It had always baffled him, and many of his kind, how they could stand to travel at enormous speeds in hunks of metal with nothing more than a strap of thick material and, sometimes, a bag that exploded and filled with gas on impact, to keep them from hurtling out of the car. The man's own choice to learn to drive these blasted Muggle contraptions was borne not of necessity but a silly, youthful whim of his, many years ago. Something, anything, to break the monotony of his childhood summers.

Leaning his head back against the seat and panting for breath, the man praised his good luck for avoiding an accident all while cursing the stupidity of the blasted machine and of himself. _Keep your eyes on the road, man_, he thought furiously. _First thing you learn about driving._ He looked over at the girl to make sure she was alright. But, seeing as she had been pale and wide-eyed with fright to begin with, he really couldn't tell if she'd even noticed their near miss.

"Are you injured at all?" he asked with an uncharacteristic mildness. She shot him a fearful look before quickly glancing away. "Nod or shake your head, you don't have to talk. Are you alright?" A pause, then a short nod. "Sorry if I scared you."

The silence stretched on for a bit longer, slowly, the cars started moving again. Then a thin voice asked "I'm sorry, but who are you?"

He bit back a sigh of impatience, holding back his sarcasm better than he knew he was capable of. She was young, scared to death. He couldn't expect everything he told her to sink in. Although, he really hadn't told her all that much besides his name. Too much to explain right now. "I'm Professor Severus Snape," he reminded her. Then, surprising even himself, he added, "But you can call me Severus for now."

The girl, Sara, thought about that for a moment. Then, "Where are you taking me?" He glanced at her through the corner of his eye. The child's small, pale face was tilted up at him, her eyes expectant and questioning. No longer afraid. That was good.

"I'm taking you to school," he answered simply. No more details, not just yet. She may not be able to handle it just yet. Her brow furrowed in confusion.

"But I can't go to school," she announced. "I'm not supposed to." Snape's eyes widened slightly in surprise.

"And why not?" he drawled, some of his sarcastic manner slipping into his voice before he could stop it. This was a delicate situation, to be dealt with tactfully. _God, Dumbledore sent the _wrong_ person._

"I'm not supposed to leave the hospital. I'm insane, you know," she clarified, her voice in that refreshing, matter-of-fact tone that all children had. God, it made his heart ache to hear it. "I have been for years, probably all my life. Mum and Dad took me to see the doctors, and they said I wasn't right in the head and that I shouldn't be seeing these things..." The potions master couldn't bear it anymore.

"You're not insane." The words came out harsher than he'd intended. Her mouth snapped shut and she looked away from him, fear taking hold once more. "I'm sorry, but you're not," he said gently. "You're really not." _God, Dumbledore picked the _absolute_ wrong person._

****

Author's note:

**Poor Severus, having to play chauffeur to a confused, frightened girl.**

**Hmmm… Poor Sara, having to put up with an annoyed Snape.**

**Ah well, they seem to be handling themselves pretty well, all things considering. I demand reviews! REVIEW REVIEW REVIEW! (I'm such a brat!)**


	2. Chapter 2

**What our parents believed**

Yup, I actually continued a story. Woo hoo for me. Hm…. I guess I shall dedicate this to Ten Toes, as they are the only person who actually reviewed. Ten…this is 'specially for you. Enjoy.

Disclaimer: Not mine, not getting $$ for this. Sara Michaels is an original character. Yup.

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Albus Dumbledore sat behind his desk, knowing his outward appearance more calm and confident than he'd actually felt. The small talk had quickly died down, and now everyone was at a loss for words. Across from his desk, in two squashy chintz chairs, sat Mr. and Mrs. Michaels. Normally, students' parents were not invited to enter Hogwarts, certainly not to visit the Headmaster's office. But these were special circumstances.

Every summer, while making up the letters inviting new students to Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizarding, the staff knew that it could be very shocking for Muggle parents to learn not only that witches and wizards actually do exist, but that their child is one of them. For some families, this new knowledge was a cause for pride and relief; it _did_ explain a child's sometimes odd behaviour, after all. Other times, it is more difficult to get family members to believe and accept what they are being told. This, however, was a very unique situation.

Young Miss Sara Michaels was a Muggle-born witch whose magical abilities asserted themselves at a very young age, and in a very odd fashion. Tragically, her gifts had been misinterpreted as mental illness. The unfortunate child had spent the better part of her life seeing doctors and taking medication for a condition that didn't exist.

Joseph Michaels spoke, his voice slightly raspy. "You have to understand," he pleaded, "we had absolutely no idea about any of this. I mean, seeing things like this just isn't normal. We didn't know there was an actual reason, we were just trying to help our little girl." His eyes were shot through with red, his brown hair a rumpled mess from running his hands distractedly through it.

"Why weren't we told?" his wife, Amy, asked despairingly. "Why didn't anyone tell us that there was nothing wrong with Sara? That this was perfectly normal..." she trailed off. Of course, this wasn't perfectly normal for either of them. The Headmaster sighed sympathetically.

"I'm afraid I don't have an acceptable answer. The wizarding community does not advertise its presence to the outside world; we believe it would cause people to fear us. We prefer to be left alone, and do not tell Muggles of our existence unless a Muggle-born child is found to possess magical abilities. Then we inform the parents, naturally, and ask that the matter be kept secret. Normally, Muggle-born witches and wizards to not require our attention until they approach the age where they will be asked to joining a wizarding school. But, in a case such as this, _someone_ should have informed you of the situation sooner. Much sooner."

He paused, looking at their pale faces. They both seemed to feel so ashamed and guilty over what they had done to their daughter. But, since they couldn't have known what was going on, they could not have been expected to act any differently. Joseph and Amy had done what they felt best for Sara. Though Dumbledore wasn't personally responsible for this situation, he had long feared that something like this would happen. "There can be no excuses made. Some of us were careless, we failed to do our duty, and now a young girl is suffering because of it. I only hope that we can rectify the problem, that with patience and hard work, we can help Sara accept that she is not damaged in any way, shape or form. That she is a unique child with unique powers and that she should never have been made to feel ashamed of that."

The couple sat there nodding, clinging to the older man's assurances that this wasn't their fault. Sara's integration to Hogwarts would not be easy.

The door swung open slowly, breaking through the Headmaster's troubling thoughts. A familiar figure stood in the doorway.

"Ah, Severus," Albus stood up and walked around his desk. "How did everything go?"

"I found the girl without any difficulties. No one at the hospital will miss her... they'll never know she was there. I've even managed to obtain all files pertaining to Miss Sara Michaels." He turned his gaze from Dumbledore and looked at the parents. "I believe that you should have these." Standing in front of Amy and Joseph, Snape extended a thick bundle of file folders their way. The woman looked at him fearfully, as if she was uncertain of what she thought of him. No matter, he was used to people looking at him that way. Joseph looked from the papers in Snape's hand to Dumbledore, sending the older man a questioning look.

"Of all the people here, you have the right to decide what to do with these files. Unless Miss Michaels wants something done with them." For the first time, Dumbledore addressed the frail-looking girl who had followed Snape into the room. Sara merely stood there, staring mutely at the floor. Clad in the hospital-issued gown and slippers, the girl looked even more vulnerable. Albus wondered how they could have let this happen.

"Sara, honey," Amy stated reassuringly. "What do you want us to do with these?" She stood up and walked up to her daughter, reaching out to draw her into a hug. The girl drew back, out of her mother's reach. Amy looked hurt.

"I don't care what you do with those," the child muttered to her feet.

"Baby, this is Albus Dumbledore," Joseph explained slowly. He left his chair and crouched down before his daughter. "Mummy and I have been talking with him, and we all have something very important to tell you. Is that alright with you?"

The little girl refused to look at his face. Head down, eyes blinking, she droned tonelessly "I'm not supposed to be here. I have to go back to the hospital… they'll be mad if they find out I was gone."

Amy stepped forward, trying to hug her child again. "Oh, honey… no, you don't belong in the hospital." During this time, Dumbledore busied himself with drawing up two chairs out of thin air: one squashy armchair like the one the Michaels' had sat in, one rigid-backed wooden chair. The headmaster had learned long ago that Professor Snape would only turn his nose up at the older man's usual choice of chairs.

"Why don't we all sit down and discuss this?" he suggested gently.

_I'm so glad I don't have to explain this to her_, thought Snape.

Dumbledore had spent the past 20 minutes talking softly. To his credit, he had been speaking directly to the young girl the entire time, treating her as though he felt she was mature enough to listen to this earth-shattering news and be able to understand it all. _And maybe she is,_ Snape thought. If he understood correctly, the girl had never been treated as a normal child her entire life. She'd been viewed as an oddity, psychologically flawed. She had had doctors and specialists analyzing her and talking down to her, but how many people in her life had actually spoken _to_ her?

All eyes were fixed on young Miss Michaels as the headmaster finally stopped talking in his soft, calm voice. He leaned back in his chair, fingers steepled together, waiting for her to respond. The girl merely sat there, looking at her hands clasped in her lap, her wispy brown hair forming curtains around her face, hiding her expression. A defensive move, a way of hiding. Snape understood it immediately… how many times had he sat in exactly the same way, hiding behind waves of his own greasy black hair? It was one of the main reasons the potions master had kept his hair so long for most of his life… that and the fact that he loathed taking the effort to get it cut. It was nice to be able to hide in plain sight, sometimes.

Snape couldn't help but feel sympathetic towards the girl… something he had never felt for one of his students. She had been made to feel as though she didn't belong for her entire life… defective and rejected. How would she handle this final blow?

Time seemed to stand still as everyone waited for Sara to respond. Dumbledore seemed disinclined to urge the girl to answer, and everyone else followed suite. Minutes crawled by, until finally Amy couldn't stand the silence any longer.

"Sara, honey… I know this sounds strange… but it's all true," she began reassuringly. "Every word of it. There's really nothing wrong with you, sweetie. Everything's fine now." Severus fought back the urge to snort. Everything really wasn't fine, but the woman seemed to cling to that pretty lie. Miss Michaels gave no indication that she was listening.

"Are you and Dad witches, too?" she asked softly. Amy and Joseph looked at each other.

"No," Dumbledore clarified softly. "Your mother is not a witch, nor is your father a wizard. They are non-magical people… Muggles, as we call them. But, as I said, sometimes witches and wizards can be born into entirely non-magical families. This is why you have been having visions, Sara. You are a witch, but nobody knew that until now."

"Does that mean I'm evil?" she whispered, still not looking up. Snape could see the girl drawing in on herself. _Good Lord, the poor child._ Amy gasped, tears welling in her eyes.

"Do you think we're evil?" Dumbledore asked neutrally. The girl finally looked up, sizing up the headmaster first, and then glancing over at Snape. Their eyes locked for a moment, then she looked away.

"No," she admitted quietly. The potions master looked sharply at the girl. She never noticed that she was being watched. Observing her huddled-up frame and the way she continued staring at her lap, Severus could tell that Sara was far from convinced. And there was no way that anyone could make her believe otherwise. A horrible realization dawned on the potions master.

_The child still thinks she's insane!_ It was what she had been made to believe her entire life. How could any of them expect her to suddenly believe otherwise? Especially when something as out of the ordinary and unbelievable as wizards and witches and a special school for magic was being presented to the girl as being real.

Dumbledore continued talking to the Michaels family in his usually wise and calming manner. He was discussing a bit of how life at Hogwarts would be for Sara, what a usual school day was like, accommodations and classes and meals and the like. The parents nodded eagerly and sent their daughter reassuring looks, trying their best to convince her that everything was fine. They looked too happy, too relieved. Their confident expressions looked utterly fake. For the life of him, Severus couldn't imagine why the couple would put on such a show. Severus knew, though he would never admit it aloud, that children were not stupid. Young Miss Michaels had to know that she was, once again, in a very unusual situation.

"The Hogwarts Express journeys to the London Cross station to collect our students on the first of September," Dumbledore explained serenely. "You may choose to send Miss Michaels on the Express or, if you prefer, she could stay here for the remaining week before school. It would give her time to acclimatize herself to the castle." He gazed gently at the young girl. "Which do you prefer?"

Sara's eyes darted quickly from Dumbledore's face to the wall, to her parents and then around the room. Then she looked beseechingly into her father's eyes. "I want to go home." Her voice was a ghost of a sound. "I don't want to stay here. I shouldn't be here, anyways…" The child's voice trailed off into nothingness. Tears sprang into Amy's eyes once more.

"Oh, sweetie," she gasped, touching the girl's shoulder. Then she looked at Dumbledore. "I think it would be better if she stayed here and got used to the place. I mean, it would be difficult for her to make the journey back here alone." It irked the potions master that Mrs. Michaels was completely disregarding what her daughter was telling her.

"Perhaps someone should walk the three of you through the school a bit." Severus had surprised everyone in the room, even himself, by speaking up. Cursing himself for not following his instincts and keeping quiet, he continued. "Miss Michaels has no knowledge of this place or the people here. Perhaps she would feel more comfortable if she got to explore the castle and the grounds a bit. After that, we can return to discussing the issue of whether or not she should stay here for the remainder of the summer." Sara had shrunk back into the enormous chair while Snape spoke. Amy looked like she was about to disagree when Joseph spoke up in favour of Snape's suggestion.

The most disturbing reaction was that of Dumbledore. He merely looked quietly at the professor, twining his fingers together and resting his chin on them. Snape glanced away, annoyed. _Why the hell is he looking at me like that? Stop it!_

He had the greatest respect for Dumbledore, and greatly owed him for giving a repentant Death Eater a chance when no one else would. But the man drove him nearly mad at times. Always siding with Potter, Weasley and Granger, even _encouraging _them at times. Protecting them when they should have been expelled a dozen times, intervening when Snape meant to fail them, or at least Potter and Weasley, who did deserve it. But he almost hated the headmaster for the way he was looking right now. That pensive, almost knowing look.

_You think I care for this girl, that I care about what happens to her. Not in the least bit. Pity her, yes. I'm shocked and disgusted that something like this could happen… that someone's mind and spirit should be damaged because of the ignorance of her parents. I feel this should have never happened to her. I've long gotten over my childish hatred of Muggle-born wizards and I don't think she deserved all of this. But, dammit, I _don't_ care for her, you old fool. Don't pretend that I do! This doesn't change who I am._

Snape continued to mentally rail against the headmaster. Why in God's name did Dumbledore choose to get him involved in this? Why not send McGonagall or Sprout or Hagrid… Well, never mind that one. But, there were at least a dozen people better suited for this job than himself. It still confused him to no end.

While he was lost in thought, Dumbledore had sent a flying paper memo flying to somewhere in the castle. Joseph and Amy both looked amazed, chatting to Sara too brightly and telling her how fun magic looked. The girl still seemed to be dubious and slightly frightened. Snape couldn't help thinking how difficult it would be to get this child adjusted to life in the wizarding world. She'd have troubles fitting in, that would be certain. Being locked up for years couldn't have been good for her social skills, and she looked vulnerable. That, combined with the fact that she was Muggle-born make her a target for ridicule, and worse, from some of the less accepting members of Hogwarts. Though Snape favoured the Slytherins, he had no illusions about them. They were cruel and would torment this girl relentlessly, especially if she ended up in Gryffindor. Once again, he had to question Dumbledore's decision to bring her to Hogwart's in the first place.

Brisk footsteps sounded up the stairs as the Headmaster chatted with the Michaels. As usual, Severus distanced himself as much as possible form small talk. He stood closest to the door as someone rapped on it sharply. "Ah," Dumbledore stated serenely. "Come in."

A tall, strict looking woman stepped into the room. As Sarah looked at the stranger, she instantly thought of this one movie she'd seen long ago, about a bunch of singing nuns. Or, rather, one nun who taught a bunch of others to sing for their church choir. The new lady looked like a nun, with her dark clothing, the serious expression on her pinched, stern face and her hair hidden underneath a tall, crooked witch's hat. One look at the woman was enough to tell Sara that this was someone you didn't want angry with you.

"Good afternoon, Professor Dumbledore." She nodded curtly at the older wizard. "I understand that you wish me to take the Michaels family on a tour of the school and grounds?

Dumbledore rose from his chair to greet the new comer, and motioned to Snape to do the same. Unsure of what to do, the Michael's copied their gesture. "Professor McGonagall, perfect timing." Albus turned to the family. "There are still a few matters I need to discuss with Professor Snape, but none of you need to be here for that. Merely tying up some loose ends. I thought that this time could be best spent inspecting the castle and grounds. I hope it will put your minds at ease, and," he added with a kind wink, "give young Miss Michaels a bit of an advantage over the other first years."

As Sara's parents started to follow the witch out of the room, the young girl turned around to look at the two wizards. "Good bye, Professor Dumbledore. Good bye Severus," she said softly. "Thank you for bringing me here."

Professor McGonagall froze, a look of pure shock on her face. That any student would dare to call the potions master by his given name was inconceivable. She half expected the man to let loose some of the verbal poison for which he was so famed, or to send her a glare of pure death. Instead, he merely turned away, blushing, and tilted his face in order to conceal it behind his dark hair.

Would wonders never cease?


	3. Chapter 3

**What our Parents Believed**

Sorry, been stressed out about school and potential work. Life gets in the way of the creative process. Fear not, gentle readers! Though updates may be rare (hopefully more frequent in the future), the story is ALMOST done. I've got the end finished, I just need to work on a little part in the middle.

This chappie may be a bit boring… mainly just the logistics of how Sara may fit in. And… yes. I have no more pre-chappie rants. None at all. Nope. Oh… except for this:

Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter in any way, shape or form, and am not making any profit off of this story. If I did own Harry Potter… I would steal Snape and make him cookies. He'd kill me, but it would be worth it. SOOOOOOOOOO worth it. grin

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Snape watched as the older woman ushered the family out of the room. The child remained huddled by her parents; she was staring at the floor refusing to look at the new stranger. The potions master asked himself if the bizarre wonders the castle had to offer would be enough to bring the girl out of her shell... or would it only serve to frighten her further?

Severus remembered his first day at Hogwart's as well as the weeks that followed. Everything had been amazing and frightening, intriguing and intimidating. And he had been somewhat used to these things, being from a very pure wizarding family. (Anyone who even thought of contaminating the bloodline was promptly disowned.) But these things were utterly new and unbelievable for the Michaels family. As pure Muggles, they were taught that even some of the most banal things at Hogwarts (such as the ghosts, the house elves or the moving staircases) could only exist in stories. _Or_, Severus thought with a shudder, _in the frighteningly irrational depths of insanity._

Dumbledore must have caught some trace of the potions master's thoughts; perhaps Snape had that vacant look or gave some outward physical sigh of his ricocheting thoughts. The headmaster looked his way.

"What are your thoughts on this, Severus?" he asked mildly, fixing the professor with this icy cold gaze. Snape did his best to resume his usual sarcastic, sneering, uncaring demeanour.

"With all due respect, headmaster, why does my opinion matter in this case? Especially since you have recently taken to the habit of ignoring my opinion where others are concerned," Snape drawled. He usually treated the older man with more respect than this, but he was in an exceptionally foul mood that day.

If Dumbledore was at all insulted by Snape's poorly veiled insult, he didn't let it show. "I value the opinion of every member of this staff; they are all very enlightening. However, as most people tend to have vastly different opinions in regards to certain subjects or individuals, it is naturally quite impossible for me to follow everyone's suggestions at all times." The older man rested his hands on the desk and paused, weighing his words. "And though I always wish to hear your opinion, Severus, you cannot always expect me to agree with it." At this remark, Dumbledore looked significantly at the younger man.

The potions master was a bit taken aback by this remark. Oh, he was well aware or what students said about him and his tendency to favour the Slytherins. In fact, two young Hufflepuffs were scheduled to serve detention with him after he'd overheard a very colourful description of him and them members of his house. Snape even knew that his fellow teachers greatly disapproved of his highly biased treatment of his pupils, though everyone tended to favour their house at least a little bit. But Snape knew that Dumbledore usually defended him and never spoke badly of him behind his back. It was the reason the former Death eater had grown to trust and respect Voldemort's greatest adversary. It was very rare that the headmaster called Snape on his treatment of the students.

Severus was mildly shocked, but not insulted and certainly not remorseful. He had his reasons for everything and he wasn't about to justify himself to anyone, not even to Dumbledore. "So, what _is_ your opinion on this?" The older man smiled calmly, looking for all the world as though he was unaware of the potions master's doubts. Snape knew him better than that.

He lowered his head, letting his hair curtain his face. It was an old habit of his, partially hiding his face while he thought. God knew why he did it. Despite his lack of social grace and hatred of people in general, Snape knew the situation with this girl required a great deal of delicacy and tact. Those were things he needed to work on.

"I believe that the girl doesn't belong here, and it has nothing to do with the fact that she's Muggle-born," he added hastily, and perhaps a bit defensively.

"I never said you thought that," the headmaster interjected demurely. "Please, continue."

"For years, the girl's parents and doctors have been telling her she's insane. Miss Michaels believed this to be true and, until less than three hours ago, had no idea she should believe otherwise. It's obvious that she still thinks she's insane and that it's gotten worse, that she's become delusional. I don't believe it will be easy to undo the damage that's been done. In fact, I think being brought here will only serve to confuse and frighten her further."

Dumbledore sat back, evaluating this information. For once, he and Severus were very much of the same mind. It was surprising, actually, how closely the man's words echoed Albus' previous thoughts. Encouraged that Snape was setting aside his usual sarcasm to give the situation serious consideration, the older wizard decided to press him furthers. "Since the Ministry for Magic has decided to attempt to integrate Miss Michaels into the wizarding world, how do you suggest we proceed?"

Snape snorted. "The words 'too little too late' come to mind," he sneered. Dumbledore remained silent. "They create this enormous problem by ignoring the child, then they dump everything into your lap. Typical. However, bringing her here is a drastic change, and the worst thing we could do is to just toss her into our world. She needs time to adjust, time to get comfortable with who and what she is. Most importantly, someone has to be able to convince her that she is _not_ insane. How can we reason with someone who's been taught that everything about her life is totally irrational? Everything that we try to explain to her or show her, she can easily disregard as being part of her supposed psychological problems." He paused, shrugging his shoulders and raising his hands in defeat. "What can we do?"

"What indeed?" Both wizards sat in silence, mulling over their current dilemma. Dumbledore finally broke the silence after a long while. "Thank you very much for sharing your ideas, Severus. I trust you won't take it personally if I ask the rest of the staff for their opinions as well?" Snape shook his head. "Well, perhaps I should join the Michaels' for the remainder of their tour. Would you care to join us, Severus?"

It was a real trial for him to keep from rolling his eyes. "No, but..." he hesitated, searching for the right words. Albus turned towards him. "Why me?" he asked finally.

"Hmm?"

"I mean," Snape finally stood. "You just stated that you haven't gotten else's opinion yet, just mine. I went to get Miss Michaels at your insistence, though there are undoubtedly other wizards who can drive and who could have retrieved her. Arthur Weasley, for example, could have gone to pick her up, and he would have frightened her much less than I did. Why am I so deeply implicated in this process?"

"No one can deny that, among all teachers, you would benefit the most from developing some sympathy for some of your students. Any situation Miss Michaels finds frightening or intimidating will make things worse for her." Snape understood the implications of this remark but refused to comment. "Of course, those are not my only reasons. But perhaps I'll save the others for another time. Besides, it could be that my reasoning is completely off. Either way, there's no harm done to anyone by involving you so much. Only good can come of this.

"'Only good'," Snape muttered as Dumbledore ushered him out of the door. "The girl is traumatised. I prefer to do my traumatising on the first day of classes. I can reach more people with less effort that way." Dumbledore was the only person in the world Snape could talk like that around without getting glared at. Everyone else assumed he had no sense of humour.

"I am so terribly sorry about that," McGonagall apologized again. Mr. Michaels still looked somewhat insulted and his wife had jumped when the suit of armour seemed to blow a raspberry at them. "Peeves," she explained while guiding the family down another corridor, "though a nuisance, is mostly harmless. He's our resident poltergeist. The other ghosts, for the most part, are much more agreeable than him."

"'Mostly harmless'?" Mrs. Michaels echoed. "Why just 'mostly harmless'?" She looked nervous.

The older lady sighed. How to break the news of Peeves to nervous parents? Especially to nervous, Muggle parents. "Aside from sometimes throwing water balloons and the occasional attempts to topple vases onto unsuspecting students, Peeves is more annoying than anything," she explained. Mr. Michaels huffed in annoyance.

"Imagine, having a poltergeist in a school. And tolerating it, even. Why doesn't the Headmaster just get rid of it? Surely, if Dumbledore's such a powerful wizard, he can manage something as simple as an exorcism."

Professor McGonagall shot him what could only be described as a cold look. "Or perhaps Peeves is still here simply because Professor Dumbledore is a more gracious, forgiving person than most, and believes that everyone deserves a chance to prove themselves." Her tone of voice was the same she used to chide misbehaving students and to instil a sense of guilt in them. It had the exact same effect on this young man.

"You flatter me, Professor McGonagall," a demure voice said. "I daresay I may even be blushing underneath my beard." Dumbledore walked up to join the group. "I'm sorry, with so many other things on my mind, I neglected to warn you about Peeves. He takes some getting used to, but once you've been here for a bit, you can't begin to imagine Hogwarts without him." He then looked down and saw Sara giggling. She stopped suddenly, a chagrined look on her face, when she saw the Headmaster watching her. The older man bent over until his mouth was level with Sara's ear.

"I also think he brings some much needed comic relief to studies," he whispered confidentially. The young girl broke out in a peal of unrestrained, joyous laughter while Dumbledore chuckled beside her. "And now," he said, "I think you will find the Hogwarts grounds particularly lovely this time of year. You can also go and meet Hagrid and, if your teeth are hardy enough, try some of his unique baking." Dumbledore offered a chivalrous arm to Minerva. Though she rolled her eyes, she put her arm through his and allowed him to lead the way to the courtyard below.


	4. Chapter 4

**What our Parents Believed**

I've been a bad, bad Duck. So long without updating ANY of my stories. sigh The worst of it is, this story is almost done… I've actually got the ending written. Now if only I could write a middle part… sigh, grin I'll have to sit myself down and force myself to write it… I actually do surprisingly good work that way. For all those who have given up any hope of an update… don't give up on me and Sara just yet.

Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter in any way, shape or form. I especially don't own Snape, but we do hang out from time to time. We actually went BACK in time and smacked the living hell out of Earl Grey for making stupid tea. I'll have to post that story someday. Sara Michaels is an original character but NOT a Mary Sue and not a self insert. I, for one, have never been mistakenly put in a mental institution. Nope, they were quite right to lock me up.

Sara lay on her stomach on her temporary bed, her little feet kicking aimlessly in the air. It had been six days since her parents had left her in the castle, hugging and kissing her goodbye and telling her how proud they were of her and wasn't she glad that there was really nothing wrong with her? They had obviously been worried about leaving her alone here, which was funny. Her parents had had almost no problem leaving her alone in an institution for the insane. For her part, she wasn't the least bit scared or worried. The castle was fascinating; it sounded like something out of a fairy tale. Ghosts and a magical forest, moving staircases, elves (not the blond-haired, beautiful ones, but skinny little creatures with pointy ears and long noses), secret doors, passages and passwords... it was a new and exciting world for her.

Reaching behind her, she grabbed another yellow pillow and laid it under her thin body for comfort. Immensely curious about her new home, she had started reading this book she had found in the library called "Hogwarts, a History". Sara had never been in the Great Hall, but was looking forward to seeing this ceiling she had read about. Her days were spent wandering the hallways and reading her new magic books. One day, she had even gone to the wizarding place called Diagon Alley with Hagrid (whom she instantly took a liking to) and picked up all sorts of wonderful things. She especially liked her wand; six and three-quarters inches, willow with a unicorn-tail core. She had found it, or rather, it had found her, after only three tries. She had it propped beside her books, which lay in a precarious tower on her bed. Well, maybe hers. The bed was in the Hufflepuff dormitory, and Sara was told that there was no guarantee that she'd be coming back here after the sorting.

Just as she was turning the page, two sharp knocks sounded against the door. "Miss Michaels, may I have a word with you?" A familiar voice asked. Sara sat up and smiled. "Severus! Come in," she chirped.

The door opened, and the potions master stepped cautiously into the room. He looked distinctly uncomfortable in the room, and Sara thought she knew exactly why. Not only was this a dormitory for first-year girls, which would make any decent male teacher uncomfortable at the thought of being in here alone, this was also a Hufflepuff dormitory, and Severus was a Slytherin. From what she had read, Sara had gathered that the Slytherins had a certain amount of disdain for the Hufflepuffs... and for all other houses, for that matter. The girl could just imagine the teacher cringing at the thought of being ambushed by a dozen shrieking Hufflepuff girls, all hidden under the beds and waiting to pounce.

The man cleared his throat and tried to look less like a caged animal. "As you know, the beginning of term dinner starts at 8:30 tomorrow evening. You will be expected to wear your school robe to the dinner. As you may not be coming back to this dormitory, your belongings will be removed from the room and stored until we know in which house you are to be placed." Snape then moved across the room and sat down on the bed opposite her. "The Headmaster also asked that I prepare you for something. You see, traditionally, students take the Hogwarts express to the school, and then first years cross the lake on a boat. Since you are already here, you will be an exception to this tradition, and the students will quickly notice that you weren't on the boats with them..."

Sara had a knack for catching on quickly. "They'll be talking about me, then. Wondering who I am, why I wasn't there, why I'm so special, et cetera." Snape nodded curtly.

"Exactly. I suggest that you ignore whatever cock-and-bull theories your fellow students will come up with. Now, whether or not you want people to know your unique situation is entirely up to you. No student will hear it from any of the teachers. It is our hope that you will be able to integrate into life at Hogwarts, and we want you to feel confident with the knowledge that your secret is safe with all staff members."

"Thank you, Severus. That means a lot to me." Snape grimaced.

"Furthermore, I know that I said upon meeting you that you could call me Severus. It is an informality that I have never dreamed I would tolerate from a student. As such, in the future, I would ask that you call me Professor Snape." Sara lowered her head.

"All right. Sorry, Professor," she mumbled.

An alien feeling of anxiety took over Snape. "No, please understand that I'm not angry with you. You did what I asked you to, there is nothing wrong with that. It's merely that, with school starting, it would be inappropriate for you to call me by my given name. And it is something that I certainly don't want to encourage amongst other students." He paused and regarded the child through a few wisps of his black hair. Had it been a mistake to be so informal with her in the beginning? Would it make the girl's integration more difficult if he, her first contact with the wizarding world, started putting such distance between them? And, perhaps the most important question of all, why did Severus even care? For all he knew, the girl was going to end up in Gryffindor and be horrible at potions. _God, Dumbledore had sent the _wrong _person!_

The young witch shifted on her bed, bringing her bony knees up to her tiny chest. The movement caused her pile of books to slip and slide precariously close to the edge of the bed. Snape barely had time to register the girl's look of dismay before his arm shot out and steadied the texts.

"Sorry," she said softly, blushing. "Thanks." Her head was lowered as she hurriedly rearranged her books in a neat stack.

"Don't worry," he said absent-mindedly. It still bothered him how he seemed to _care_ about making sure this child felt accepted. By God, was he actually trying to be _nice_ to a student? He was slipping in his old age.

He stood up quickly, feeling distinctly uncomfortable with the whole situation. The child would be in for a rude shock when he started acting like his _usual_ self around her. Better that she slowly get accustomed to it now. He nodded curtly and swiftly turned to leave. Snape had almost reached the door when he felt an unfamiliar pang of… what exactly? He felt sorry for the girl, to be sure, but more than that, he felt _responsible_ for her… in a way he had never before felt for a student. Sighing, he turned to face her.

"I'm not accustomed to explaining myself to students, but I find myself obligated to make an exception in your case." He paused, searching for the right words. "I am not generally seen as a 'nice' person, as you will come to learn from your classmates. In fact, I shall probably give you ample reason to join them in their incessant whining about me. What you have seen these past few days is _not_ typical behaviour for me, and it will not continue once classes start. Understand that I expect hard work and discipline from all of my students, without exception. It is nothing against you personally, nor will it ever be. That is… merely the way I am."

He turned away abruptly, unwilling to look at the girl's face. His explanation, though perhaps harsh, was truthful, and necessary in her case. "I understand." Severus left the room, never seeing the small smile on Sara's face.

"Thank you. I know they'd never accept me if you treated me differently," she said to the empty room.

Sara quickly discovered that Professor Snape had been right when he said that her arriving at the school before everyone else would be the cause of confusion and speculation amongst her peers. The young girl had been pacing restlessly in her room hours before her classmates were scheduled to meet for the Sorting. Having already packed her meagre belongings to move to a new house dormitory, dressed in her robes and leafed anxiously through her magic books, she found herself with nothing more to do but wait and agonize. After what had seemed like an eternity, Professor McGonagall had finally entered the dormitory and announced that Miss Michaels could proceed to the waiting room to the Great Hall in order to meet her fellow first years. Sara had arrived at almost the same time as the others, but despite this and despite the shared feeling of anxiety and nervousness, a few people had noticed the odd fashion of Sara's arrival.

A few people glanced askance at her, then looked at their new friends and shared muffled whispers behind cupped hands. _So it starts,_ the girl thought grimly. She hoped that it would be nothing, that people would eventually forget about this and she could lead as normal a life as possible in this place. The last thing she needed was for people to get too curious and, heaven forbid, discover even a tiny bit of the truth about her past. It was humiliating for the young girl to recall her past and would be horrible beyond imagination if word got out to the rest of the school. People would be afraid, she knew, or cruel. Or even worse, they would try to be sympathetic when they had no idea what it was like to be her. Then they would start asking her questions that she wouldn't be able to answer and make her defensive and doubtful. The young girl was having a hard enough time accepting that what was happening to her was real and justifying everything she saw to herself, but if people started confusing her and making her doubt... the consequences could be unbearable.

_Be optimistic,_ Sara told herself. That's what her parents had said for years, what doctors had been telling her family, what she heard all the time in the hospital which had been her home for so long. Be optimistic. With needles or pills, with treatment or psychotherapy or hypnosis or whatever, things can get better, people with these kinds of problems can lead relatively normal lives. Her problem truly being that she was a witch amongst Muggles who didn't understand her, and given that many witches and wizards seem to be able to lead relatively normal lives, there was no reason that Sara couldn't have what she longed for the most. To be with people who didn't think there was something very wrong with her. So Sara vowed that she would be optimistic. She would ignore the hurtful comments of others, she wouldn't worry about the whispers, she would work hard and make new friends who understood her and liked her. She would fit in here at Hogwarts, and later in the wizarding world, and she would be happy for once in her life. She could do this.

The first years continued to wait outside the Great Hall. As the time passed, the whispers lessened. Impatience and a queasy anxiousness had ensured that the other children had other things to worry about than how and why Sara had gotten to Hogwarts before anyone else. They were too busy asking themselves about what kind of test they would face and if they would embarrass themselves in front of the school. Although being able to spend more time at the school had made Sara feel very special, she now found herself wishing that she could have arrived on the train like everyone else, perhaps made some friends, and not been made to stand out on the very first day of the term. The young witch was feeling rather alone now, with no one to speak to and to worry with. She was anxious to get settled into her new house and to start making friends with her housemates.

After a few more agonizing minutes, the first years heard the murmur of voices in the Great Hall die down, only to be replaced by one loud, commanding voice. Though everyone in the small room strained their ears, the new arrivals could not hear what was being said. Suddenly, the door to the Great Hall swung open and Professor McGonagall stood in the door way.

"You will be invited to enter the Great Hall momentarily. When you walk in, form a straight line, single file, facing the rest of the students. When I call your name, you shall be seated on a stool near me and shall be sorted. Once your house name is called - either Gryffindor, Hufflepuff, Ravenclaw or Slytherin - you shall sit at your house table with the rest of your classmates. Remember that your house is just that - a home with friends and family. You help each other with your successes and good behaviour; you hurt your house with failure and rule-breaking." She glanced quickly into the room behind her. "Follow me now, please."

The older witch strode in front of the audience with the confidence that came with years of practice, while the first-years shuffled uncertainly behind her. They stood silently, nervously, as the first of the names were called. Aanderson, Carson, was the first name called. A smallish dark-haired boy with pale skin was the first to take his place on the stool. An ancient hat, which had been carted out shortly after the first-year's arrival into the Great Hall, had been placed on the boy's head. After a few moments, the hat called out "Ravenclaw". Adams, Belinda was called next. Time passed, nervous children were sorted by the hat and had made their way down to the tables to join their housemates.

Though Sara had read about inter-house rivalry in "Hogwarts': A History", she had no idea that she would be witnessing it first-hand so quickly. The students were all very welcoming of their own house-mates, but had different reactions whenever a first-year was chosen for a different house. Hufflepuffs were generally sneered at and got less applause than anyone else, some students rolled their eyes at new Ravenclaws, but the rivalry seemed to be the worst between Slytherin and Gryffindor. Students at the Gryffindor table whispered to themselves with mean looks on their faces when a new Slytherin was announced. The Slytherins themselves actually booed and hissed on occasion whenever a new witch or wizard joined the Gryffindor table.

Distracted as she was by observing the body of students intently watching the Sorting Ceremony, Sara almost missed when Professor McGonagall finally called out, "Michaels, Sara."

The young girl had been nervous all day and, therefore, had not eaten a thing. She was very glad for this. At this moment, Sara was so overwhelmed with anxiety and nervousness that, had she eaten earlier, it may have ended up all over the floor in front of her. Butterflies weren't just fluttering in her stomach, they we engaged in full-fledged battle. Though Sara knew the general characteristics inherent to the four houses – bravery, loyalty, intelligence and cunning – and didn't believe that she had any of these qualities. In which of the four houses did she really belong? Sara had no idea.

Blood rushed in her ears, drowning out the mummers of the curious crowd. Time seemed to slow as she made one agonizing step after another towards the chair where she was to be sorted. Time enough to consider turning around and running out of the room, then to decide against it. She finally arrived at the chair, sat down and had the hat placed on her head.

_And let's see what we have here… Oh my,_ said the hat. It remained quiet for a few moments, and then started muttering. _Oh my indeed. I've never seen anything quite like this before. But no matter. Now where to put you?_ Sara closed her eyes, waiting for the voice to go away. Not good, not good at all. This was insane, she was insane. What was she thinking? Witches and wizards, ghosts, hats that spoke inside your head. Total insanity. Sara Michaels had well and truly lost it. She sat for a few moments, paralyzed with disbelief. _Oh, don't fret, child. Don't fret,_ the hat consoled her. _Odd, I know, but don't worry, it is perfectly normal for us. There are more things to the world than what Muggles are aware of. Yes, so many more wonderful things. And for you, they begin here. We'll find out where to put you, get you truly settled in, and then you'll see that everything is all right._

The voice was smooth and relaxing. It held the certainty of centuries of wisdom and knowledge. Sara found herself daring to believe the voice of the hat, daring to believe that she was fine, that this could become normal, and that life would turn out alright in the end.

_Not very learned, but you do still possess the quality of intelligence. Very good at figuring people out, I see. Not a terrible amount of loyalty, but there's nothing wrong with that. After all, you've never been given the chance to develop that trait. Perhaps you can still. Untrusting, understandably. Brave in your own right, after what you've been through. But, my dear, I'm mostly stuck on how you deal with people. You understand them to a degree, not how to socialize, but how to get inside their heads, in a manner of speaking. You catch on very quickly to what they want to see or hear, use that to your advantage. An interesting quality, to say the least. It could go either way for you. Given all this, I think you would fare rather well in…_

"SLYTHERIN!" The hat cried. A loud cheer burst from the table to Sara's far right. The new Slytherin felt mildly woozy as the blood rushed from her face and started going on its normal path through her body. She smiled proudly, handed the hat to Professor McGonagall and made her way down to her house table. As she made her way to meet her house-mates, she noticed a red-headed boy at the Gryffindor table lean over and say to his friend, "Just what we need. Another snake at Hogwarts'."

"_Ron!_" a bushy-haired girl beside him hissed. "That's not at all appropriate!" 

"But it's true!" he countered. The brown-haired boy with glasses, who was seated across from them, laughed. Sara looked away quickly and stumbled towards her table. Why were they laughing at her? What had she done wrong? She understood that Gryffindors and Slytherins usually didn't get along, but would a whole quarter of the school automatically hate her because of the house the hat had decided to place her in? It wasn't fair. This couldn't be right. Despite this horrible feeling, she still managed to look happy and enthusiastic while her new house-mates smiled at her and welcomed her to the table. Shortly afterwards, when the sorting was finished, a marvellous array of the most delicious-looking food Sara had ever seen had magically appeared on the table in front of her. Though she hadn't eaten anything earlier that day, she just didn't have an appetite.

**Author's Note: Hm… I wonder if I'm going to get flames about how I made Harry and Ron be mean. Gentle readers, please remember, that they are just kids. Of COURSE most Gryffindors are not going to welcome a new Slytherin with open arms. Harry and Ron least of all, considering their deep animosity with some of the members of Slytherin. While their comment did seem to be cruel, let me point out that Sara was feeling very nervous and out of sorts at that moment. Sara takes a comment that is directed towards Slytherins in general and falls under the mistaken impression that it was directed towards her personally. I know I've done the exact same thing before. So, the boys aren't so much mean as seriously lacking in tact.**


	5. Chapter 5

**What our parents believed**

To Paege, for kicking my ass and making me write. To Belmont-Bellamy, who is so good at sharing ideas and has long entertained me with her wonderful stories. Also, to anyone who still tunes in after my long break between updates.

Disclaimer: If I owned the Harry Potter universe, I would own Severus Snape's voice, and that would make me so happy! As it turns out, I own nothing, and am sad. Woe.

As Dumbledore entered his office, he took a moment to pause in order to enjoy the small, clicking, humming or whistling noises of the various contraptions. They were calming and welcoming to him. As with the end of every sorting ceremony, it was his own special tradition to take the Sorting Hat to his office by himself. It offered the headmaster the opportunity to talk to the hat and gain some valuable knowledge about the new students. This evening, he was hoping for a bit of enlightenment from his centuries-old friend.

"Time to put you away for another year, my friend. Though I always feel rather badly about doing so. It's too bad that you cannot be involved in some other way, I think."

"Habit, Dumbledore, habit," the hat replied in a rasping voice. "Like you, I'm not getting any younger. And Sorting really is a trying task sometimes. Especially," it added meaningfully, "this year. Some very interesting new arrivals this year."

The headmaster decided to try playing the fool to entice the hat to explain its comment. "Notice anything more interesting than usual this year?" he asked innocently as he placed the hat on a shelf.

"Humph." The hat eyed Dumbledore, letting him know that it wasn't that easily fooled. "Alright," it relented. "I truly am worried about that young Muggle girl that was brought here. Miss Michaels."

"I trust that you are aware of her unfortunate past." Dumbledore sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose.

"A bit of warning would have been nice. I'm getting too old for such shocks." The hat rearranged itself on the shelf.

"I couldn't do that," the old man admitted. "I couldn't risk telling you in advance and possibly affecting your sorting duties. No, in order for things to work for her in this place, she must be treated as normally as possible."

"Hmmm," the hat replied. "I heard rumours that a student was brought to Hogwarts _before the others_." Dumbledore sighed. "That was Miss Michaels, wasn't it?" The headmaster nodded. "So much for treating her 'as normally as possible'," the hat said smugly.

"She needed to adjust to this place and to finally understand that she belongs here, not in some Muggle asylum for… those of questionable sanity." Dumbledore stood to make himself some tea. "I never did approve of those places anyways. I can never understand society's tendency to lock away the people who are most in need of help. Besides," he added, "if any Muggle observed me for long enough, they may be tempted to put me in one of those places." The hat chuckled and declined to comment.

"But you _must_ worry about her," the hat prodded gently. "Dumbledore, you realize that she still thinks she's insane. And it's no wonder, after what she's been through. And now, bringing her here causes her to question her sanity every day. Now, though I'm old and of very limited use…,"

"As am I," Dumbledore interjected calmly.

"… I still feel compelled to say that this isn't the best idea. That girl needs stability, not the constant shocks that accompany life as a witch or wizard."

The headmaster shook his head. "That girl needed to be attended to years ago. That girl's parents needed to be made to understand that there was nothing wrong with their daughter at all. That girl fell through the cracks and has suffered horribly because of it. And she deserves a chance to live the life that she was meant to have.

Dumbledore was settled comfortably on one of the many squashy chairs that furnished his room and was about to have his first sip of tea when a sharp, curt knock sounded on his door. His soft voice carried clearly through the room as he called for the person to enter. After a moment, the tall, lean form of Professor Snape entered the room.

"Ah, Severus," Dumbledore said amiably, motioning to a chair across from him. "I was expecting you to drop by. Please, have a seat, have some tea." The potions master made his way across the room and sat down awkwardly on a chair. In all of his years of working with the headmaster, Severus Snape had never gotten used to those damned chairs. The older wizard poured a cup of tea for his visitor. The potions master took one sip and grimaced slightly. "Oh, Earl Grey. I shall, of course, make some orange pekoe for you."

"Don't worry, I don't plan on staying here long," Snape replied. "I just wanted a couple of questions answered."

Dumbledore sighed. "I think I can guess the nature of those questions. And they may take a while in answering." He flicked his wand and produced a second pot of tea. "Since you are here, have a drink. Please. I'd hate to be thought of as an inhospitable host." The younger wizard leaned over with a small smile and poured himself a cup of tea.

"I assure you, it would remain strictly between us." He took a sip of tea and tried to find a comfortable position in his squishy chair.

"And now, your question, Severus," Dumbledore prodded gently. Snape sighed and rubbed the bridge of his nose.

"Why was that child placed in Slytherin?" he asked wearily. "You truly hate me, don't you?"

"First of all, I hate no one, and could never imagine hating you. Secondly, many children were placed in Slytherin today. Please be more specific."

"You know I am referring to Miss Michaels," Snape accused, narrowing her eyes. "She is a pure Muggle who knows _nothing_ about our ways. Furthermore, her mental and emotional stability are, at best, questionable. And yet, she has been placed in Slytherin. Of all the houses…"

Dumbledore calmly raised a hand. "Are you more worried about being responsible for her or of how she may be received by her housemates?" The other man paused and reflected.

"Both," he admitted at length. "I'm not too worried about her getting into trouble, but…. How to put this?" He sighed and sipped his tea. "I know you expect the heads of houses to provide guidance and support to students, and _you_ know that I've _never_ been any good in that regard. Most Slytherins are very self-sufficient, but Miss Michaels' needs may prove to be too much for me. And we're both aware that Slytherins do not tolerate weaknesses in others, we take advantage of them. Putting Miss Michaels in Slytherin is akin to stupefying a rabbit and throwing it into a fox den. I don't see how this could be the best choice for her. If word of her past ever got out…"

"I have no intentions of letting Miss Michaels' situation be known by more than four people. Myself, Professor McGonagall, yourself and Miss Michaels." The hat shifted on its shelf and huffed. "And, you, of course, my old friend. Forgive me; my old mind does slip sometimes."

"I know that professors would never tell anyone of this," Severus replied. The hat shot a doubtful glance at him. "Do you honestly think me to be _that_ cruel?"

"Though your treatment of certain students is… questionable, I know you can be utterly trusted with our students' personal secrets. I have no doubt that you will exercise extreme discretion in this situation." Dumbledore levelled a look at Severus. "But, she may feel the need, in the future, to confide with some of her classmates. I am actually hopping that she will be able to cultivate trusting relationships with other students. If she is inclined to talk to someone about her past, it may get out. What better house to be in than Slytherin if the school _were_ to discover Miss Michaels' secret?"

Snape sat silently, pretending not to understand the hidden meaning of that revelation. If it were discovered that Miss Michaels had been in a mental institution, and were she assigned to any other house, his Slytherins would have mocked her relentlessly. Being a housemate may offer the unfortunate child some small degree of protection from her would-be tormenters.

"She is a Muggle," he pointed out. "Salathizar Slytherin was obsessed with purity of blood. Why place a Muggle in the house he founded?" Dumbledore levelled him with a meaningful look.

"It is not unheard of, Severus. Unusual, but both mixed-blood students and Muggle-born students have gone through Slytherin's house. Family history doesn't make a difference in the Sorting process," he said softly. The potions master remained silent. The headmaster was correct on the first point, but on the second…. Blood didn't matter to the hat, but it did to students and, sometimes, to teachers. Snape personally didn't care about having a Muggle-born child in his house aside from the fact that it would likely cause friction between the students, and likely cause him problems.

"I didn't mean to imply that she didn't belong in my house simply because she is Muggle-born," he stated diplomatically. "I merely _do not_ understand _why_. What makes her a Slytherin? I simply don't see it in her."

"Humph." Both wizards turned to the hat, resting forgotten on the shelf. "Not much point in asking Dumbledore these things when the decision came from me, now is there, young man?" Snape leaned back and glared at the hat. "I'm the only one who had anything to do with this decision. And believe me; I didn't place Miss Michaels in Slytherin in the hopes of sparing her from being taunted by them. Of everything that I've seen in her mind, I truly feel that she would do best in your house."

"She should be Slytherin because she thinks she is insane? I'm insulted."

The hat snorted. "Leave it to you to jump to the wrong conclusion, Severus. I still remember the day I was placed on _your_ head…"

"Oh, don't start that," Snape complained with a wave of his hand. "Don't bring me into this. Don't say you've placed Miss Michaels into my house because she reminds you of me as a student."

"Nothing of the sort. She's a pleasant child when she wants to be, whereas you..." Dumbledore cleared his throat, signalling that the hat should not finish this thought.

"Truth be told, she wasn't that hard to place," the hat continued. "Above all, the girl is cunning. She can read people rather easily and take advantage of what she finds." Severus snorted in derision. "No, I don't mean that in a bad way. Not to hurt people. She's a master at showing people what they want. That skill can go either way. And she has a great potential for learning. She has a quick mind and knows how to put knowledge to her advantage. For this reason, I feel that Slytherin would be a good home for her."

Snape remained silent, leaning back into the chair in deep thought. Black eyes flitted back and forth, processing information. Albus made himself comfortable and helped himself to more tea. Past experience had taught him that no one could push Severus to accept this was the best choice. Once informed, Severus would discover that on his own, Dumbledore was sure of that. After a time, the potions master sighed and rubbed the bridge of his nose.

"I can't do this alone, Headmaster. You know that. Due to Miss Michaels', er, _unconventional_ past, she could potentially have enormous emotional and social needs, which I cannot fulfill. And if things _do_ happen to go badly for her in Slytherin…"

"You will not be alone in this, Severus," Dumbledore said reassuringly. "You realize that all teachers here will have a responsibility towards Miss Michaels, myself included. You have, however, managed to establish a relationship of sorts with the girl."

Severus snorted. "I retrieved the child at your insistent request, scared her senseless and spoke to her a bit before the start of term feast. I would hardly call that a 'relationship'."

The older wizard nodded. "True. But it is more than anyone else has managed thus far." The potions master sat silently for a moment. With nothing more to say for the moment, Snape drained his cup of tea and stood to leave.

"Well, I do still have several hundred other students to teach," he stated, "and last minute details to go over for the first week of classes. I guess, for now, I shall just see how things go and address problems as they arise."

"Don't you mean _if_ they arise, or are you anticipating trouble?" Dumbledore asked innocently. Severus rolled his eyes.

"Ever the optimist," he shot over his shoulder. He then paused before the door and turned to face the headmaster. "Are you certain we made the right decision? Bringing her, I mean? Do you think it can help undo some of the damage that was done?" The hat rustled on the shelf. Dumbledore sighed.

"I asked the exact same questions," the hat interjected. Snape narrowed his eyes.

"And the answers are…?"

Albus took his time clearing away the remnants of their tea. "I cannot give you yes or no answers to any of those questions. I would not have brought Miss Michaels here if I had thought that she did not stand a chance at succeeding. I am certain that, if she adapts well, Hogwarts would be a better environment for her than the one she left. I strongly feel that she should have been made aware of what she is long ago in order to prevent much of the harm that was done. I know that we have a responsibility to her to try and make up for what has happened to her. I believe that she can do well here, but will need our help and time to adjust."

The potions master's eyes drifted away from Dumbledore's face as Snape gazed vaguely into space. For the first time in his life, he was worried about dealing with a student. This Michaels child presented an unprecedented challenge, one that Severus wasn't sure he wanted to face. He was sure that the astute headmaster had already guessed the real reason for Snape's objection to having the girl in his house. _I don't want to risk damaging her any more than she already is._

Quite often, at the start of the day, while night slowly vanished, conceding a grudging, temporary defeat to the dawn, Sara Michaels would lie in her bed and stubbornly refuse to open her eyes. Where she found herself now, there was no slow ebb and flow of night and day as, this morning, harsh lights had been made to flood her room. The child hated it, she had always enjoyed the quite moments between sleep and complete wakefulness, when her conscious mind could still cling to and treasure the evaporating wisps of blissful dreams.

This morning was particularly bitter, as the dream had been so… _magical_… was the only word to describe it. Finally, a place where she belonged…

"I don't know how she's still sleeping," a young girl whispered. "I could _barely_ sleep last night, I was so very nervous about classes this morning."

_Classes?_ Sara dared to open her eyes slightly and took in her surroundings. The bed on which she lay was much larger than what she was used to, the blankets which she clutched with her tiny fingers were soft and warm, coloured deep green with silver designs. Her head lay amidst a jumble of large green and black pillows. Thick green curtains surrounded her bed, blocking out the worst of the light. Through a crack in the hangings, she peered out at two girls who stood whispering. They were wearing long, black robes and green ties with silver stripes. The girl who had spoken sensed Sara's gaze, her hazel eyes fixing on Sara's deep brown ones. They both flushed and quickly looked away.

Sara flopped down on her pillow, a huge grin on her face, her chest bursting with an indescribable sense of elation and satisfaction. "It's true," she whispered breathlessly to the ceiling. "It wasn't a dream, not this time." Struggling to hold back tears of joy, Sara leapt out of bed with more enthusiasm than she ever had before, lifted her new robes out of her packing trunk and started to prepare herself for the day ahead.

"Hi," a shy voice said as Sara parted the curtains surrounding her bed. She looked up to see a young, red haired witch sitting on the neighbouring bed, her pale face slightly flushed. Glancing around quickly, she noticed that they were alone in the room; the pale witch was undoubtedly speaking to her. Her expression slightly guarded, Sara cautiously returned the greeting.

"I'm sorry, I didn't want to sound like I was talking about you behind your back," the stranger blurted swiftly. It was hard for Sara to make out what had been said. "It's just… it's just… well, I'm so nervous, I barely slept at all last night, in fact, none of the other girls slept much either, and I just couldn't believe that you're feeling so calm!" she rambled on, a hint of admiration in her voice.

Out of habit, Sara weighed her words cautiously before speaking. How much should she tell this strange girl? She couldn't possibly reveal that much of what had seemed extraordinary to the first years, she had already seen on numerous occasions. And yet, Sara didn't care to lie… she was a horrible liar, anyways. "I guess the reality of it all still hasn't sunk in yet," she said slowly. "I mean, didn't you wake up and wonder if this was a dream, or something?"

"Oh, no," said the young witch breathlessly. "I've been waiting for this for _years_, I knew a _bit_ of what to expect. I mean, my older sister and cousins all went to Hogwarts and told me a bit about it… though hearing about it is nothing like seeing it for your own eyes, is it? And I also heard things from Mum and Dad, aunts and uncles… why, even great-granny Marthid would speak fondly of Hogwarts. Though, half of the time, she still thought she was still back at Hogwarts… her mind kinda started going funny as she got older.

_I'm an idiot!_ Sara berated herself. _Whole family in Hogwarts, this girl must have been a pure-blooded wizard like the ones I'd read about in my books._ Sara had all but gone and admitted that she was a Muggle-born who knew nothing about magic, and who knew what her house-mates would think once they found out? Only the first official day of school and Sara felt that, as a Muggle-born Slytherin, she would end up having no friends at Hogwarts.

"Yeah, well, what I saw yesterday wasn't exactly new to me either," she replied blithely. It was true, the ceiling of the Great Hall, ghosts and moving stairs had certainly not been true to her yesterday. The week before yesterday, however…

"I'm Paege, by the way," the young girl said, holding out her tiny hand. "Paege Bellamy."

"Sara Michaels." The children shook hands briefly.

"Funny, that," Paege mentioned with a frown. "My dad talks about wizarding lines a lot, but he's never mentioned any British wizarding families with the surname Michaels." Sara froze for an instant before forcing her face into the same cheerfully blank mask she often wore when she had been in the hospital.

"Don't worry," said Paege. "I know that Slytherins have a bad reputation when it comes to accepting Muggle-borns. I, personally, don't care about all of that, but I know some people here will. You won't be able to fake being a pure-blooded wizard, so it'll be best to just admit the truth and ignore anyone who decides to hold to that silly purity of blood stuff."

The young witch seemed to have a kindly way about her, her speech about not holding to 'purity of blood', as she called it, seemed very nice, but Sara wasn't quite ready to trust anyone just yet. Still, Paege seemed, at least, to be a kindred spirit of sorts, and could perhaps be a friend. Sara allowed herself a small smile.

"Do you reckon we should go down for breakfast? Only, I don't know if I can eat," Paege admitted.

"Me neither, I'm much too excited… and nervous, actually. I don't know if I'll be any good at magic." Paege frowned at this.

"No one really knows until they've tried. I didn't show a lot of magic either, before coming here. I hear that students from wizarding families really don't have an enormous advantage over Muggle-borns. We're all kind of on the same page."

Tilting her head, Sara said lightly, "Well, if we're rubbish, we'll just have to help each other out, right?" Paege smiled softly and nodded. "We should at least go down to get our timetables. What class do you reckon we'll have first?"

"Hopefully not History of Magic, that's supposed to be boring…" And the two girls headed out of their dormitory, still discussing what wonders their first day may possibly have in store.

**Author's Note: Happy now, guys:p**


End file.
